Haiku – Page 17 – aka, The Abject Muse

Enchantment

You press my hand to your lips, gently, so softly I almost felt it.

Just star-crossed lovers without a future to share — Cupid missed his shot.

Sometimes hope is all that’s left, after the magic shifts to the mundane. With stars in your eyes, hoping the magic stays and knowing it cannot.

Stone Age Valentine: Bundled twigs, and no matches. T-rex tartare, Grog?

The tender, secret places no one ever finds— your fire sweetly singes.